


Wear My Ring

by coffeethyme4me



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/pseuds/coffeethyme4me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cock ring at work, baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear My Ring

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the collarkink kink meme to this prompt:
> 
> "Peter gets Neal all riled up before a day of work, snaps a cock ring on him with instructions not to take it off, thinking poor Neal will squirm all day. Neal gets through the day with grace, giving of only small signs of need that only Peter picks up on. But they turn Peter /on/."
> 
> 2,400 words

"Peter?"

Cruz's voice was polite yet bordering on urgent, and Peter jerked his head up with an inquisitive, "Hm?" before recalling the topic at hand. "Yeah, I want back-up near the Park Street entrance in case Lowell bolts like he did in Philly."

He let his eyes surreptitiously cast Neal's direction once more at the other end of the table. Neal, whose spread legs conveyed such nonchalance, such comfort, easily viewed under the glass-topped table. Peter caught Neal's hypnotic blue eyes for a split second and then continued, looking away.

"Henson and Jones, take point on that. Craig, Alvarez, and Dorowitz cover the alley." Peter looked around at the other agents, eyebrows raised, then ordered his file, snapping it shut. "I want precision on this, people. Lowell is intelligent and crafty." His gaze almost involuntarily went back to Neal's wide, almost-innocent, "I was framed, I'm not crafty" stare. "This is a must-have bust," Peter went on, again casting his eyes elsewhere. "If anybody has any last minute input before tomorrow's operation, now's the time."

Almost instantly, almost before Peter had even finished the sentence, Neal's hand shot up. His eyes, doe-sweet, went even wider, his lips, not showing their blow-job bruises from the morning anymore, parted, ready to speak his ubiquitously genius idea.

Peter sighed, chagrined that Caffrey, once again, was going to outshine his best agents. Purposefully, Peter didn't call on him right away. He wanted to make the little shit sweat. More than he already probably was. Peter fought the urge to look at Neal's crotch to see if he could make out the-

"Uhn- Puh-" Neal just barely whined, and Peter fought the fond smile he knew he gave the other man way too much in the presence of suspicious others.

"Yes, Neal," he said, finally.

And then it happened. In his fervor for voicing his idea, Neal hastily sat forward in his chair, and a brief look of hot agony shot over his perfect features. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth bared. It was just a moment, and one single, breathless gasp, but it was enough. It was what Peter had been looking for all day.

Evidence of the titanium cockring strangling Neal's delicious, straining cock and full, succulent balls together in purgatory.

Neal recovered fast, but as he spoke, Peter noticed the discrete sheen that had brought to his eyes, tears and arousal. "Lowell has a history of repelling from roofs," Neal offered.

Cruz spoke up, "The last time he made that escape was…" Her head dipped into her file.

"2002," Neal supplied, no notes required. "I think it's about time for him to try it again." He looked at Peter, then, pride and excitement, maybe hope, shining him up like one of his damned diamonds.

Peter couldn't help but smile just a little bit. Cruz exhaled in frustration next to him, but Peter's gaze was caught in Neal's. Peter had thought to bring his Neal down a peg with the ring. Thought maybe it would give him enough distraction to knock him off his perpetual A game for once. He'd expected Neal, who was always so beautifully transported during sex with Peter, to be similarly so (but muted) wearing the cockring to the office. It had been a bold, maybe crazy move, quite un-Peter in many ways, but then again, hot sex with Neal Caffrey seemed un-Peter, too.

Before Neal, Peter hadn't even ever wanted to have…homosexual…well, homosexual…relations with another man. He wasn't counting sixth grade adventure camp and Simon Stone's I'll show you mine routine. Peter was straight. Not narrow, of course. He'd always been proud of his bureau track record for professionalism when dealing with any white collar crime committed by or against people of a gay persuasion. He knew he set a good example for his people, and they followed suit, resisting the ol' boys' club mentality of making fag jokes at the edge of crime scenes.

And Peter loved El. Loved her like he'd never loved anybody in his life. She'd been his only true miracle. Until now. She'd actually, amazingly yet fittingly, been the one to confront his what-if-I'm-gay breakdown the night he told her how he felt about Neal.

El, wonderful, insightful, supportive El, had just smiled sadly at him, took his big hand in her small one, and said, "You're not gay, honey. You're just in love." He'd blinked at her, and she'd smiled for real then, the wattage enough to blow him away. Again.

And that's how Peter's affair…relationship rather…with Neal began. Peter had been surprised that not only were his advances not rebuffed, his ante not called, but raised! El had tried to tell him, almost warn him, in a Neal's-a-young-virile-man-I-hope-you-can-keep-up kind of way. And she'd been right.

Neal had been a beautiful, hot creature in Peter's arms, underneath him, riding his cock, sucking it… Whatever Peter wanted, Neal gave, eagerly. It made Peter re-examine what it actually was that he wanted…sexually. He and El were great. Really great. But they were what they were. Neal was…new. Neal was…ready. And so Peter started to become more and more adventurous, with Neal eating it up every time.

Neal had now, after nearly four months, been chained up, gagged, denied release, rimmed, paddled. He'd taken foreign objects and butt plugs. He'd crawled, begged, cried. He'd suffered for Peter. And he'd rejoiced for Peter. He'd given him everything Peter never knew he wanted.

But they'd never taken it to work with them. Not past steamy looks and the occasional too-close contact, and really, that was par for the course. Not until this morning when Peter had looked down at Neal on his knees before him, cum glistening on his chin, so hard his pretty cock was pulling up toward his belly, and Peter couldn't bear to shut the feeling off for another regular day at the office. He wanted his Neal to hurt for him all day, to feel him all day in that gorgeous, tailored, perfect suit.

And, of course, he wanted to see some glimmer of his Neal underneath the coy, suave, completely together conman Neal tended to be at the FBI. Neal was always slightly untouchable in front of the others, uncatchable, perhaps to make up for the fact that he had, indeed, been caught. But Peter, for once, wanted Neal touchable. Not by everyone, or anyone really, and that included Peter. He just wanted to see a little bit of that composure drop.

So he'd waited until Neal's striving, ready-to-hump-his-leg cock had softened just enough, and then Peter had captured it and his beautiful balls in the cockring and sent him off to work that way. "For me," was all Peter had had to say, and Neal's face transformed from pleading agony to immense pride and stoicism.

And he'd performed admirably all day. Too admirably, really. Peter had looked for evidence, beyond the stiff cock barely concealed, and really not concealed if one looked hard enough. And Peter did. A few times. Neal had been doing a bang up job until that chair move. And though Peter expected to feel the familiar pangs of guilt, finally seeing the evidence that Neal did, indeed, suffer, no such feeling overtook Peter. Instead he just felt really, really turned on.

"It's a good point," Peter allowed now. Neal's smile sparkled, but Peter strategically ignored him. "Caffrey will be our eyes in the lobby, so Dixon and Mendes, take the roof. I'll be in the van with Cruz and Taylor." Peter looked around the room, dying to get out of there. "Anything else?" He silently begged Neal to keep his hot little mouth shut, compressing his own lips vigorously. Peter probably gave them all less than two seconds and then stood, "Dismissed, then. Let's get on it, people."

Everyone stood to leave, even Neal, probably to go try to adjust himself in the nearest men's room. "Caffrey," Peter called out, silently cursing the rough edge to his voice. Neal turned, somehow managing to look bright, care-free, and pleading all at the same time.

"Peter," he said, maybe a very slight edge of annoyance in his tone.

"Come to lunch with me," Peter said, and Neal nodded, swallowing rather hard and seeming slightly out of breath. Peter licked his lips. His Neal….

Peter let his hand fall to Neal's lower back on the way out the door and stay there a full five seconds longer.

"Mexican as usual?" Neal asked, his nonchalance returning. "Or do I finally get to try that new Thai place by the park?"

"You're funny," Peter said lowly. He let his hand brush Neal's ass on the way from lithe lower back to his own pocket for his keys. Neal shut his mouth.

The ride back to Neal's place was ridiculous, Neal already loosening his tie and unbuttoning shirt buttons, shaking to touch his own cock, whispering, unprompted, untouched, "Oh God, Peter…" And Peter knew it was an admission. How very difficult it had been for him throughout the day, though he'd only shown it once. Peter's dick swelled in his slacks.

They made it up the stairs but were half-undressed already just outside the door. Peter pulled Neal inside by his loosened tie and slammed the door behind them. Then he plastered Neal's arms against the door, hard, up by his head and slid to his knees for the first time in front of the other man. He unzipped Neal and brought out his, oh God, painfully red and bleeding pre-cum cock, shiny cockring coated with Neal's out-of-control juice. Jesus…

Peter took Neal's tortured cock on his tongue, teasing the sticky tip mercilessly and loving the way Neal cried and jerked against him yet didn't lower his arms. Good boy. Peter moaned against the cock almost in his mouth. It tasted…interesting. Hot and sharp. It lit a fire in Peter. Something he'd never quite felt before.

Ownership.

"You like wearing my ring, Neal?" Peter asked, cleaning off the dripping ring with the flat of his tongue, swiping along Neal's bulging balls, too. He let his hand slide down Neal's leg to his ankle.

Neal shuddered beautifully, nearly incoherent. "Y-Yessss."

"Turn around," Peter ordered, cock jumping when Neal didn't hesitate. He yanked Neal's pants and underwear down. "Spread your legs, Caffrey." Pretending like this wasn't love he felt, like his engorged cock was his only organ full to bursting.

Peter undid his pants, getting his dick out, and then he stroked himself while he buried his face in Neal's ass and licked at his pretty hole. And God, it was good. The taste, Neal's incessant trembling, his hot tears and plaintive cries. How he humped the air in front of him and Peter's mouth behind. Gorgeous…

Too hard and too close, Peter abandoned his tongue work at Neal's hungry little anus and stood, fumbling with a lubed condom from his wallet and cursing. Neal waited, forehead against the door. Finally, Peter got himself positioned behind Neal. He wrapped one arm around Neal, across his chest, holding his shoulder, and pushed himself inside, groaning in Neal's ear.

Neal's breath hitched, and Peter knew this meant it hurt. He also knew his Neal liked it to hurt. Peter shoved in harder. Neal cried out, head back on Peter's shoulder. Peter felt his heart pound against Neal's back. And then he started to fuck him. It was different than with El. More direct. Less foreplay. Rough and more goal-oriented. Peter liked it. He liked it a whole lot. He closed his eyes and pounded Neal's tight ass.

He was getting close, panting and grunting against Neal's neck. It was time. Neal was whining constantly, his hole opening up nicely. Peter reached around and jacked Neal's cock while he rode his ass hard.

"Oh shit…Oh Peter," Neal gasped. And then he was coming. Coming harder than Peter had ever seen. His ass clamped and spasmed around Peter's cock, making it hard to keep fucking, so Peter just drove in deep and pulsed there while Neal shot ropes against his front door. The enhanced orgasm went on for about two minutes, and Peter started to become afraid that Neal might pass out. And yet, the very idea was such a turn on, too, that Peter lost whatever control he might have had and, growling possessively, started coming, too. He clutched Neal hard to his body and moaned his name.

Peter shuddered one last time and then pulled his cock out. He threw the condom in the nearest trash and turned Neal, still trembling, in his arms. Peter cupped the back of his head, looking into the tear-stained eyes for a moment before kissing him. He slid his tongue into Neal's pliant mouth and kissed him deep and long. Still kissing, he reached down to Neal's now-soft cock and slowly started slipping the ring off, gently pulling and loving how Neal hissed into his mouth.

Peter kissed him too long. He kissed Neal like he swore he never would. He blamed it on the rings, cock and anklet. Hell, he blamed it on El, on the FBI, on their suspect, on Neal's cursed ability to always, always make him want it too much.

Neal made Peter need it too much. Neal made Peter love how much Neal needed it, too.

"Goddamn Neal Caffrey," Peter muttered into the kiss, pocketing the ring. Then pulling away, "Pull your pants up, we gotta get back to the office."

Peter turned, getting himself tucked back in, straightening his clothes as he could hear Neal doing behind him.

And then Neal's tentative voice. "Peter?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling the warm, exquisite tug in his chest at just that voice and how it said his name. He turned. Neal was holding the ring. Peter instinctively patted down his pockets, although it wasn't the first time Neal had lifted evidence off his very person. He was in the middle of an annoyed sigh when Neal's soft voice broke him.

"Can I have your ring?"

Any mild frustration with Neal's continued playful deceptions melted at that, and Peter nodded. "Yes, Neal," he said, trying to tell him without having to say it. "You can have my ring."

And with a blinding smile, Neal Caffrey twirled the cockring on his finger once and then slipped it into his pants pocket. Peter just smiled, eyes stinging, and turned away.

Goddamn beautiful, amazing, HIS Neal Caffrey….


End file.
